“Last year, my husband and I began toiling with the idea of taking the kids to Kauai this summer. It was a foolproof plan. Our then 2-year-old daughter (who was in the throes of Terrible Twos) would be a mature 3 while our youngest (who at the time was in an embryonic state) would be an incredibly manageable 6-month-old darling.

As we approached our departure date, I started realizing the trip might not be a purely calming experience. I was beginning to understand that 3-year-olds can be a larger threat than their 2-year-old counterparts and the baby still wasn’t getting that sleeping through the night concept. I had growing concern that my children weren’t going to be complete angels on the plane so I spent $100 at the toy store. But surely everything would be fine; they had to sleep for a good portion of the flight, right?

When we got off the longer than expected flight, we were a disheveled family in need of lunch, a nap, clean clothes, and a serious break from each other. Still, we were sure we’d be having fun in no time.

The registration staff at our resort welcomed us to our one-bedroom condo.
“No, that’s a mistake,” I tried over the screeches of our overly tired baby who’d been up eight straight hours.

“We were supposed to have a two-bedroom,” my husband chimed over the tantrum our equally exhausted 3-year-old was starting in on.

“Sorry, one bedroom is all we have left. And if you give me an hour, we’ll have it clean for you,” said the perky clerk who clearly didn’t have children.

“It’ll be fine,” my husband kept saying as I sat by the koi pond crying along with my daughters.

“Of course, we’re in paradise. We’ll [add expletive here] make it work,” I said, forcing a smile.

When we finally got into our room two hours later, we knew the only thing we could do was run damage control. Since our children do not share a room at home, there was no way we were going to test this in a situation involving paper-thin walls and a whole lot of vacationers trying to relax. After intensely working out each scenario, we determined that our eldest would get the only bedroom, which featured a king-size bed AND the blowup sleeping bag we brought for her (both of which she used); the baby got the bathroom complete with a travel crib AND the condo’s only toilet; and we parents got the world’s lumpiest pullout bed in the living room. To make things more convoluted, the baby went to sleep in her bath-bedroom at 6pm. This made matters for those of us not wearing diapers a bit tricky.

After wrestling the kids to bed that first night, my weary husband and I collapsed on our lanai. “Welcome to paradise,” we sneered downing Blue Hawaii cocktails. “Only 7 more nights to go.”

Things weren’t all bad. In fact, halfway through the trip, things improved drastically: the baby was only up 4 times a night versus 6. And our eldest mustered the courage to ride the resort’s waterslide over and over. This was huge for us as parents to watch her conquer her fears—but more important, we discovered that there is something that can tire this highly energetic kid out cold.

With only one day left of the trip, my husband and I were counting our blessings…and the hours left till we could have our own bed and toilet. “We did it,” my husband said tenderly kissing me on the nose. “We dealt with our circumstances very well.”

That’s when we made a big mistake—we turned on the TV.

“A terrorist plot was foiled this morning in London,” the newscaster said unemotionally. “Anyone boarding a plane will be subject to rigorous screenings and by the way, don’t even think about taking beverages in the airport for the kids.”

[Insert more expletives.]

At the airport, our stress level was insurmountable. The TSA agents were chasing our 3-year-old around the security checkpoint to remove her shoes as I was folding the stroller that refused to cooperate while my husband was taking the crying baby from her sling so they could screen that for bombs.

All I kept thinking was, please God, give me one of those terrorists for ten minutes. After the expensive week this exhausted, angry, thoroughly tense mom had in “paradise,” I’d love to see who was scared of whom then.